


Until the Stars Are All Alight

by jedisapphire



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedisapphire/pseuds/jedisapphire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lothlórien has long been defended by Galadriel's grace and the power of Nenya. For all its beauty and peace, there is something missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the Stars Are All Alight

Legolas dismounted, handing his horse over to the waiting groom and dismissing his archers with a wave.

"Will you go out again?" Eredhion asked.

"Not until tomorrow morning. Lord Thorontur has scheduled the archery tests for tonight. Rochendilwen and Saeldur will not soon forgive me if I leave them to handle the process alone."

Eredhion smiled. "In that case, I will take my leave. But if you change your mind and go outside the stronghold –"

"For any reason whatsoever, I will send for you or Voronwë, and it will not be like that midnight ride to the river that Saeldur and I made alone last year like a pair of idiot children."

Legolas' guard laughed. "See that you remember."

He sauntered off in the direction of his parents' cottage. Legolas, after a moment's thought, decided to find Saeldur to discuss the night's lists, but before he could take more than a couple of steps towards the practice fields, he was hailed by Arbellason, who had just cantered into the courtyard.

The Elf-lord leapt lightly off his stallion, crossing the short distance to Legolas in a few strides.

"Where were you going?" he demanded abruptly.

"To speak to Saeldur, but it is not urgent. May I serve you, my lord?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your father?"

"I saw the King at Council this morning."

"I know. I was there as well. That was not my question. When was the last time you spoke to your father?"

"I believe it has been some weeks," Legolas said slowly. "We have both been busy. I noticed he seemed more worried than usual this morning, and I intended to speak to him of it. Is something wrong, my lord?"

Arbellason clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing the sight of his son will not cure. Go now. He is in his sitting room. The archers can wait."

* * *

The music of the laments filled the night, and Legolas raised his eyes to the stars.

After he had looked forward to Lórien so much, after he had been so happy about the prospect of the Golden Wood that he had momentarily forgotten his grief over Mithrandir, the reality was almost physically painful.

Elladan and Elrohir, frequent visitors to Greenwood over the centuries, had always told Legolas his home was alive like no other forest they had ever seen. Legolas had not particularly believed them. Imladris did not count as a forest, true, but surely, he had thought, Eryn Galen, with its infestations of spiders and orcs and wargs, could not compare with Lothlórien, the closest thing Middle-earth could provide to the sunlit glades of Tirion and the Elvenhome. Surely the blood and skill of Elven warriors could provide no peace as complete as that woven by Galadriel's power.

That was certainly true, he reflected, with a quirk of his lips. The peace woven by Galadriel's power  _was_ complete.

He leaned back against the sturdy trunk of a tree that had never known evil or danger or drought, and laid his hand on the bark.

_Elf_ , the tree responded to his silent greeting.  _I do not know you._

_I come from a distant land far to the north._

_North._ The tree sighed as though in a gust of wind.  _North. So far. Why would you travel so far? But it does not matter. Here there is peace._

_Peace?_ Legolas enquired a little curiously. In all the time he had spent in the branches of trees since the distant days when he had been an Elfling, he had never heard a tree sound so disinterested.

_Aye. There is water and there is light. The Galadhrim sing to us and the air is thick with elanor. This is peace._

On impulse, the Elf asked,  _Are you happy?_

_I have all I need, Elf. I have lived long. My seeds have been saplings and have grown tall in the light of the sun. I am content._

* * *

"You are unhappy," Legolas said slowly, watching his father pour wine.

Thranduil cast him a sharp glance. "Has Arbellason been filling your head with his foolishness?"

"Lord Arbellason spoke to me, but I rely on the evidence of my own eyes. I have seen you happy. I know the difference."

Thranduil smiled, the first true smile Legolas had seen on his face all evening. "I have had little cause to be happy with you as far from me as you have been these weeks – oh, I am not blaming you, Legolas. I know you have duties, and as King I am grateful for your service." He handed Legolas a cup. "As a father, I can sympathize with those who are undoubtedly cursing me for keeping their loved ones from them for extended periods."

"Will you not tell me what troubles you?"

"It has been a difficult year. A difficult… few years."

"Yet we have held the Shadow at bay."

"How much longer, Legolas?" Thranduil turned, abruptly, hiding his face on the pretext of studying the portrait of Legolas and Lindariel that hung on the wall of his sitting room. "There are those on the Council who believe I should beg aid from Elrond. Or Galadriel."

Legolas put down his cup and got to his feet. "They are entitled to their views, but you have acted in the best interests of the realm."

His father responded with a bitter laugh. "Clearly my best has not been good enough. Whatever power Galadriel has – and you know my suspicions of what that may be – it is clearly something the Enemy cannot touch."

"The Enemy is the greatest evil we fight," Legolas said, "but there are lesser ills that may beset the forest. You taught me that."

"And you have learnt well. Were it not for you… And even so…"

"My king?"

"Do you know what Míron told me today?"

"Something that is best forgotten?" Legolas asked, trying for a light tone.

Thranduil reached for Legolas' left wrist and gave it a gentle shake, making the sleeve fall back. An almost-healed scar ran down the inside of the archer's arm.

"Does it still pain you?" the Elven-king asked.

"Not at all. I can shoot my bow to prove it."

Thranduil laughed again, and there was an edge of something else in it. "Míron claims I would not be as willing to hold the border by strength of arms if it were my  _own_  blood being spilt."

* * *

Legolas' reverie was interrupted when he saw Gimli making his awkward way up the rope ladder that had been hung from the flet. He felt a moment's surprise – normally not even a mouse could creep up to him in the forest without his knowledge, and now that he had noticed Gimli, he realized he was making the most dreadful noise as he tried to climb. Even without his armour and axe, his tread was heavy, and he was grunting and grumbling as he grasped for handholds.

Even more surprising, the tree had not warned him of the Dwarf's approach. Legolas was used to trees, both in Eryn Galen and Imladris, giving him advance notice of all comers long before they were anywhere near him.

But then, Legolas was also used to trees that practically wriggled with delight when Elves, any Elves, spoke to them. This one seemed… distant.

He pushed the matter from his mind, holding out a hand that he knew would be refused.

" _Nobody_ pulls a Dwarf," Gimli growled, scrambling up the last few feet and collapsing onto the flet. "Of course, Dwarves don't live in trees like half-witted pointy-eared Elvish princes, so the question has never arisen."

"Why are you not sleeping?"

"I couldn't," Gimli said tersely. "Every time I try, I keep… dreaming."

Legolas nodded understanding. "There are potions that can give you a dreamless sleep." Then, with a laugh that was not entirely mirthful, he added, "But I do not know if Lady Galadriel's healers have a ready supply of it on hand. They have little need."

"No Elvish potions," muttered the Dwarf. "Why are you not with your kin, Elf?"

Legolas shrugged. "I was. I prefer not to listen to laments." He glanced up again, finding an odd reassurance in the sight of the stars. Somewhere to the north, his father and his friends might be looking up at that same sky. "I have heard far too many."

" _You?_ "

"Perhaps you would not consider it so. But in Eryn Galen we hold the King's peace with nothing more than the strength of our arms to counter the forces of the Enemy. For that there is a price."

"Oh, come, Legolas. My father told me you have Elvish magic in Mirkwood."

Legolas grimaced at Gimli's use of the name, but he made no objection. "I have never understood what mortals describe as magic. The forest aids us, the trees and the birds and the beasts. We have helped them, and they trust us. If you consider that magic, then we do have magic. But we have no power such as Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel do."

"Perhaps it would have been wiser to seek such grace," Gimli said.

Legolas sighed. It was instinct for him to dismiss that idea as betrayal of his father and all that the Elven-king had done, but…

But…

He looked around at Lothlórien, at the trees that had never seen a drop of blood spilled, and bit his lip.

* * *

Legolas kept his tone even. "The warriors serve you willingly, my King."

"I know. Sometimes I fear they trust me too much." Thranduil released his wrist. "Or their commanders trust me too much."

"You must not let Míron trouble you."

"He is not the only one." The Elven-king sank into a chair. "He says it, but I know many believe it. That is what they think of me, Legolas… not only that I put the warriors' lives at risk lightly, but that I put  _your_ life at risk lightly."

"My King –"

" _Your_ blood has paid for my decision. Míron believes that does not matter to me."

Legolas dropped to his knees by his father's chair. "Nobody believes that. Lord Míron knows what to say to upset you."

"Míron has a son of his own. Arahael is a warrior as well.  _Surely_ he understands… And yet he insists that I would sacrifice you for the sake of my own pride. He may not agree with my decisions as King, but to suggest that I would risk my son's life on a whim… What manner of evil does he suspect –"

" _Adar_ , please. Do not say such things. It is an honour to serve you."

"You never even had a choice, Legolas."

"I never wanted one. And you had no choice either."

"I was far older when the burden fell to me." Thranduil shook his head. "Your mother and I knew even when you were born that we were bringing you into a difficult world, Legolas. But sometimes…" He turned his chair so he could grasp Legolas' shoulders. "Do not misunderstand me, Legolas. You gave me cause to live when the entire world seemed dark. You are my spirit's joy. I do not regret a single moment I have had with you. But sometimes I think I was unwise. Perhaps I should have waited until I could give you a peaceful life."

* * *

"It is said," Legolas murmured, so softly he did not know if Gimli could hear him, "that Lothlórien comes closer to the Blessed Realm than any other part of Middle-earth."

"I know. You were as excited as an ironsmith forging his first sword." Gimli cocked his head. "You don't seem that happy about it now. Has something happened, Elf?"

"Aye," Legolas said. "I have learnt more of Lothlórien."

"What have you learnt of the Golden Wood that does not please you?"

"I am honoured to be here. It is beautiful. There is more peace than I had imagined possible in Middle-earth at such a time as this."

"Yet you are unhappy."

Legolas laughed, though without much mirth. "You are entirely too perceptive, Master Gimli. I do not dislike it, but… It is difficult to explain. Lothlórien reminds me of my home enough to make me miss it, but not enough to supply the lack."

" _Too_ peaceful for your taste?"

"I have fought enough battles to know the worth of peace. That is not what disturbs me. As I said, it is difficult to explain. I sense a power here, Master Gimli, that is more than simply the grace of the Eldar – more even than the grace bestowed upon Lady Galadriel by the sight of the Two Trees."

"The Ring?"

"No. The Ring is evil. Its strength is in violence and malice. I explained myself badly. I do not sense evil. But I do sense power. Benevolent power, I believe, but still a power that is not of this forest."

"If it has kept the forest safe…"

"It has, but at a cost." Legolas patted the tree, which responded with a vague feeling of goodwill. "The soul can be stifled by over-caring as much as by malice."

"The soul of the forest has been stifled?"

"Can you not sense it?" Legolas shrugged. "I suppose not. These trees have never known sorrow, and they have never known true joy either. The Lady Galadriel is blessed by the Valar, and her grace has held the Shadow at bay. But she was born in lands far to the West, and she longs for them. This is a beautiful land, but it is not a forest of Middle-earth. It is an echo of the Elvenhome."

"Is your Mirkwood a forest of Middle-earth?"

"Greenwood," Legolas said firmly. " _Greenwood_ , and yes. That there is darkness there I do not deny, but that darkness is as much a part of Middle-earth as the great oaks or the water of the Forest River. The Ring was forged in Middle-earth."

"It was, but we are not bound to lie still and wait for the Enemy to declare his victory!"

"Nor do we. We fight, Master Gimli. With bow and blade, with breath and blood, we fight the Shadow. But our weapons are our own. The trees of Mirkwood give us our bows and arrow shafts, and metal mined by your kinsmen and fired in our forges is in our blades."

"The Enemy is strong."

"And even now our greatest hope is in the heart and courage of a Halfling."

* * *

"I would not have wanted that." Legolas met his father's eyes. "Had I been born a hundred years from now, or a thousand, or however many it must be before the Enemy is defeated, I could not have eased your burden."

The Elven-king smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "You cannot know how much you do precisely that." He stood, bringing Legolas to his feet as well. "Yet the fact remains that we have made many sacrifices, not the least of which is the peace of our warriors."

"We are holding our ground."

"And what do  _you_  think?" At Legolas' questioning glance, Thranduil went on, "You said I acted in the interests of the realm in deciding not to ask Galadriel or Elrond for help. You did not say I had made the right decision."

Legolas responded with a wry smile. "I did not intend to question your judgement, I assure you, my king."

"In the privacy of my sitting room I have always encouraged you to question my judgement. Do you disagree with me, then?"

"I would not say I disagree," Legolas said slowly. "I do not entirely understand. While you command it, and while even a single one of your people still dwells beneath the trees, I will fight to defend the realm. And if you believe the realm is better defended by the bow than by… whatever Lady Galadriel uses… You have never given me reason to doubt you."

Thranduil sighed. "I would be lying if I said I have never considered it. I might even have done it, regardless of the consequences, if my warriors had not proven themselves willing and able to defend the realm." He laid a hand on Legolas back. "As I said, you cannot know how much you ease my burden."

"Would the consequences be that terrible?"

"If ever you visit Lothlórien," Thranduil said, "you will understand."

"Lothlórien? I have heard it described as beautiful beyond compare."

"Yes. It is."

* * *

"Frodo is brave," Gimli agreed. "And I believe I would trust his heart, and those of his young companions, as much as I would trust the grace of the Lady of the Golden Wood."

Legolas laughed, genuine amusement in the sound. "From you, that is a high compliment, Master Gimli. Frodo would be honoured if he heard."

Gimli grunted. "Do you regret that we came here?"

"Regret? Not at all. We needed peace. We needed time to regain our strength and our courage. Lothlórien and Lady Galadriel gave us both. This is a perfect haven."

"And no more than a haven."

"No more, and no less. I was not lying when I said I have long wanted to visit Lothlórien. The Golden Wood is legend among my kin. I have not been disappointed. The  _mallorn_ and  _elanor_ are beautiful beyond my imaginings. Yet I worry for my father and my friends, and if Frodo's quest were not vital to the survival of Middle-earth, I would be riding north this moment to defend my home."

"And what when the times comes for you to leave Middle-earth and your home?" Gimli demanded. "I heard the Elves in Rivendell speak of it. There are many who will sail West as soon as the Ring has been destroyed."

"Many have felt the call," Legolas said, "but I have felt not a flicker of it yet. My heart is in the forest, Master Gimli, with the oak and the beech. I am content. It will be a very long time, by your reckoning, before my time in Middle-earth ends."

Gimli made no response beyond a shrug.

Legolas, leaning back again, looked up at the night sky. Eärendil shone down like a beacon of hope.


End file.
